


First Knight

by tb_ll57



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Background Slash, Backstory, Gap Filler, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:58:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tb_ll57/pseuds/tb_ll57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Alex had known well before Roger did that Roger was very doomed.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Knight

He was walking the gardens alone, grateful for the air, the privacy, the fresh scent of the rain. The ball inside raged on like an all-consuming plague of shrill laughter and sawing music, shoes beating the floor in frenetic dancing. His head was hot, his throat dry. He hadn't slept in nights, and wouldn't sleep for several more.

The sound of a footstep in gravel whirled him about, just as he noticed the approaching light. In his haste, he looked directly at the flaring orange torch his intruder carried. Momentarily blinded, he stared, frozen in place.

'Roger?' he whispered.

The flame on copper hair dipped low. A purple gaze met him, eye to eye.

'Interesting,' Master Lord Thom said.

 

**

 

Alex had known well before Roger did that Roger was very doomed.

He'd stood by the door when summoned to Roger's quarters that night, offering nothing as his knight-master ranted furiously about Trebond's interference in his plans. Such grand plans, such painstaking plans, all undone by that damned boy who refused to die. Only as time inched near to the combat did Roger finally turn to Alex-- a fury of instructions, demands; and finally threats, when Alex only avoided his glare. Roger's power was already on the wane, before a single blow was struck. Alex saw which way the wind was blowing. He knew.

Oh, but Roger. Roger couldn't even conceive of losing. Planning, planning, new plans as the old ones crumbled. Roger's ego had always been equal parts armour and vulnerability. Roger had been wrong so many times he'd forgotten what right looked like.

'Ever the doubter,' Roger had said, the last thing Roger said to him. He took Alex by the neck, staring down into his eyes. 'This is anything but the end.'

Alex hadn't believed him.

 

**

 

Master Lord Thom sought him out, the week after Roger's death.

Alex had quietly requested, and been quietly granted, a border patrol that would keep him out of the palace until the scandal blew over. He was no fool, nor was Duke Gareth; he would eventually be questioned. His closeness to Roger would not be overlooked. But for now, for the moment, he would be allowed to escape it. He was to go with Raoul and with Geoffrey, newly knighted yet still loyal. It was to last a month. He was not yet sure if he would really return. Tirragen had been long enough without its lord, and if he just stayed quiet, their Majesties might, in time, forget he'd ever been involved.

It was not to be. Master Lord Thom sought him out.

'Ah,' Thom said, distracted, always distracted. 'I need your help. You're not to go on patrol.'

'What?' Alex said dumbly. He was already packed-- in fact he carried his saddlebags on his shoulder even as they stood in the hall, passed by servants who carefully did not look. The weak sunlight from the carved arches at his back barely fed the shriveled grass under his boots. Thom's copper hair was pale today, pale like his scholar's skin, the white hand that beckoned imperiously.

'I need your help,' Thom repeated, enunciating carefully, impatiently. 'I've already spoken to the Prince. You're to stay.'

'But—' Alex glanced behind him. The open gates of the stables, just behind him, wafted the clean smell of horses, hay, escape.

'Come on, then,' Thom said. He snapped his fingers at Alex. 'Stop these silly delays. Put those bags away and meet me in Roger's rooms.'

 

**

 

There was no funeral, of course. In death, though, Roger became far more popular a subject of conversation than he'd ever been, alive.

The royal family were absorbed with the revelations, and the Queen's health, the Prince's many close calls. His friends, though, the men who'd been his friends once, moped over it all until he was heartily sick of them. Even the servants gossiped openly, whispering the wildest of stories to each other as they walked the halls behind their betters. If they weren't talking about Roger, they were talking about Alan. Alanna.

And what a shock that had been. Most who dared to gossip spoke with approval or disgust that the King refused to strip her of her shield. Those who had known him-- her-- familiarly, they spoke with wonder, and recounted endlessly her long list of talents with a new awe.

It was as well he was in the habit of keeping his counsel, because it kept him from declaring them all blind asses to their faces. But they were. Her secret didn't change anything. In fact, it seemed hardly to have been a secret at all, given how many had known and conspired to keep it silent.

But not Alex. Alex had already been topfull of secrets.

 

**

 

Master Lord Thom had been appointed the task of clearing Roger's quarters of malignant magic.

'Assuming there's any benign,' Thom added cheerfully. He was already buried nearsightedly to the nose in a dusty tome pulled from the shelves in Roger's private workroom. Half-hearted piles had begun forming already. Books, scrolls-- Thom would want those for study. Roger's notes and journals. For study and for burning. Talismans and experiments, for destruction. The water fountain and the dolls, Thom told him, had already been removed. Thom would deal with them most carefully of all.

'Why do you need me?' Alex asked him. He went in no further than the workroom door. He had never been invited further.

'You were his squire.' Thom looked up at him, never to see him. He left the book where it lay and picked up another. 'Presumably, you're the key to at least a few of his multitude of mysteries.'

'Am I,' Alex answered.

That made Thom see him. He had a singularly piercing gaze. Alex stood his ground a full minute before he shifted on his feet, uneasy.

'So it's like that,' Thom mused. He turned back to his manuscript. 'Very well. You may go for today.'

He bristled at the off-hand dismissal even as he was swiftly grateful for escape. He wavered on his feet. He turned away.

'You have no Gift?'

Alex looked back. 'No,' he said. 'Never in my family.'

'Interesting,' Thom replied absently, and said nothing more.

 

**

 

'You what?' Gary yelped.

Alex was just leading his horse back to the stableyard. His friends occupied a corner by a trough, where their conversation had no doubt begun quietly. Jonathan was red as a cooked beet, hushing Gary uselessly.

Gary waved Alex closer. 'Did you know they were--'

'Gary!' Jon hissed.

'He was in love with Alan. Alanna!'

'I knew,' Alex said.

Both gaped at him. Alex stroked his mare's dappled nose.

'You knew?' Gary repeated. 'You knew she was--'

'No. I knew Jonathan and _he_ were.'

Gary spluttered. Jonathan was white, then. Ghostly in his shock.

Then, as Alex led his mare beneath the wooden eaves, Jonathan called out, 'Alex. Did you tell him?'

'No,' Alex said. 'I never told anyone.'

He knew Jonathan didn't believe him.

 

**

 

'And you never observed him using any of these implements?'

Alex hadn't even looked at them in an hour. Master Lord Thom was relentlessly thorough in his questions. They'd gone through nearly all of Roger's possessions. This final pile seemed to be of significance. Thom repeated himself several times.

'No,' Alex said shortly. 'Never.'

'He never conducted spells before you? Never invited you to watch?'

'No. I'm un-Gifted. What would have been the point?'

'To show off,' Thom shrugged. 'To impress you. To influence you with a display of his power. To frighten you into silence. Do I need to continue or will you pretend to understand me?'

Alex was quite sure he did not like Thom. 'Is there any question of his guilt? Or are you establishing my complicity?'

'At least we're speaking candidly now.' Thom propped his bearded chin on his hand. 'It would be easier on you to say he forced you. In whatever way.'

'I suppose it would,' Alex said flatly. 'Be easier.'

'And no detriment to your honour. Your reputation. The Prince would believe you, the King. For the price of a little pride, you could even become a trusted right hand to the throne.'

That was probably quite true. If it had ever been Alex's way. Not even Roger had ever asked him to play a part. Only to do as he naturally did-- nothing.

'Do you know why Roger chose you as his squire?'

Alex also did not like how casually Thom said his name. As if he'd known the man his sister had destroyed before all the court. Almost-- fondly.

'It would have been inappropriate of me to ask,' Alex murmured.

'I mean do you know why Roger chose you, an un-Gifted boy, as his squire. Why a man known throughout the world for his sorcery would select--'

'I understand the question. I don't know.'

'No?'

'No.'

'Interesting,' Thom said, for the third and last time.

 

**

 

The idea formed slowly. Schemes had always been Roger's gambit; Alex's needs were simpler, briefer. But there was no Roger anymore. There were no needs to satisfy except his own. He was free. For the first time in years, he was beholden only to himself.

But after the first heady rush, its grip on him began to strangle. Freedom was a lack of direction. Purpose. He had spent those years of captivity biding his time for something that had never happened. A betrayal he was never called upon to enact. Roger was dead. Which meant Alex-- had no meaning any more.

Alex heard Master Lord Thom had finally destroyed the dolls Roger had made of so many Court figures. Gary told him so, over wine in the Great Hall. Alex drank there every night, at the edge of the Hall. Jonathon watched him from the head table. So did Sir Myles, who seemed likely to be making guesses; Roger had always been doubly careful of Myles. Delia sent him private messages he never read, asked him for dances he never provided, and watched him, trying to catch his eyes.

So did Thom.

'I think it's odd, you know,' Gary told him once. 'How he's so different from her. I suppose it's natural, but for them to look so alike and be nothing alike, it's just odd. I mean, d'you realise, if she hadn't made the switch, it might have been Thom who'd have been amongst us all this time. Can you imagine?'

'Yes,' Alex replied, and then, 'No. No. You know, I really can't.'

 

**

 

'He was the first great enemy for us both.'

The gardens were absolutely no form of escape anymore. Even in the hedge maze, Thom found him. Even without magic. He appeared bearing just a simple torch, not even coloured with his Gift. He sat on the bench in the centre of the maze, his knee brushing Alex's.

'Do you ever just say “hello”?' Alex asked.

'Why?' Thom shrugged him off. 'I'm explaining, and I never do that, either. So listen to me. I'm telling you it wasn't just Alanna he was targeting. In some ways she was never the most important target.'

Alex knew in very great detail just how many times Roger had tried, unsuccessfully, to end the lives of those who stood against him. Alan. Alanna. 'You?' he said, letting Thom's silence prompt him.

'I've always been able to See. Alanna only Sees sometimes, but I've always had it more than her. We were six the first time I saw Roger. I had a dream. The next time we were nine. We were riding. I hated it anyway, but I was dazzled by the sun on the mountains, and I saw Roger. I panicked and fell from my pony. I broke my arm. Alanna bound it up, with sticks and strips of her skirt. She took a hiding from Coram for it, but she wouldn't tell him why I'd fallen. She was always like that.' Thom rolled his torch between his palms, letting the flame dip toward the coral gravel at their feet. The tawny light on his face cast deep shadows over his eyes and mouth. 'It was her idea for us to switch. We told the village healing woman. Maude. Maude tried to See in the fire. I don't know if she did, but I know that I did, that day. I saw Roger. I knew that we would be successful, Alanna and I, that I would go to the City of the Gods and that I would be what I am now, a Master, and that I would accomplish the greatest thing ever even attempted by any Master before or after me.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Do you know what she wants me to do?'

'Alanna?'

'Delia,' Thom said.

No. Yes. Alex was terrified, numb. Yes, he knew.

'The thing is,' Thom said, 'I already know that I can do it. In a way, I already have done it. I Saw it.'

'Then _why_ are you telling me this.'

'Because I want to know why it wasn't you begging after me to do it.' Thom raised his torch, and stood. 'You know where to find me when you have an answer.'

 

**

 

He was very drunk. He knew exactly how drunk, because it hurt exactly that much; his head throbbed hotly, his stomach rebelled, and he couldn't breathe. Gary swam in his sight, a brown blur with an echoing voice asking if he ought to slow down.

'I don't know,' Alex mumbled. His tongue was a block of wood, refusing to bend for speech. 'I don't know why I did it.'

'You're awfully determined at it, nonetheless,' Gary observed wearily. 'Up now. On your feet. I'll walk you back to your rooms.'

He managed not to be sick, with Gary's hand wrapped around his arm, stumbling over himself from the Great Hall. He thought he felt eyes on him. He twisted to look back, but Gary kept him going. It took all his concentration to make it up the stairs.

'You're going to get more attention than you want, carrying on like this,' Gary told him. 'Your door is locked. Have you got the key?'

'Not locked,' Alex managed. 'Just jiggle it-- sticks.'

Gary obeyed. They were inside then. Alex crawled the length of his low leather settee, pressing his hot face to a cool cushion. Gary lit a candle somewhere over his head.

'Alex. Drink this.'

Water. Alex grimaced, turned away. Gary sighed, and set the tumbler on the rug. 'I don't know why I did it,' Alex told the cushion. 'I thought I knew. I didn't.'

'That's all right.' Gary patted his shoulder. 'Try to remember to drink the water. I'll send a maid in with some stale bread and hot tea in the morning.'

'Thom.'

'Thom? Thom what?'

'Thom.' Alex breathed from his nose, squeezed his eyes shut against a crazy swirl of nausea. 'Send Thom.'

'Master Lord Thom? Alanna's Thom? I think you'd have better luck from Duke Baird. More sympathy, certainly.'

'Thom! Find Thom.'

There was black nothingness, for a long while. He might have slept. It might have been worse than that. But when he cracked his eyes against the candlelight, it wasn't Gary crouched at his side. Purple eyes.

'Hold still,' Thom murmured. He had long, cool fingers, tender on Alex's neck. They spread something sweet through him. It pushed back the darkness in his head, the hurt. Alex stared at him.

Thom gathered the folds of his nightshirt about his skinny knees, tucking the linen beneath his palms.

'I don't know why I did it,' Alex said.

'That's a lie.'

'No. No, not a lie...'

'Lie to me again,' Thom said, 'and I will never speak to you again. Now tell me the truth.'

Alex stared at him. 'He promised me-- that it would matter. That I would matter. I would-- be-- something.'

Thom nodded slowly. He touched Alex's cheek, his chin. 'Wash your face,' he said, 'and shave. You'll feel better for it. And then you'll come with me, I think. We have something more to talk about.'

 

**

 

The catacombs were dark and dripping with damp. Alex shivered even in his thick tunic, but Thom, though pale, always pale, was immune to the cold.

It was the first time he'd seen the tomb. King Roald, ever generous, or perhaps just fearing further scandal, had refused to burn a royal cousin. But it was cold, uncarved marble, without even a name to distinguish the bones within.

Alex fingered the hilt of his sword, wishing it had more comfort to give. His head still spun, but Thom's magic had rid him of the pain and the nausea. 'Why did you want me here?'

'Curiosity,' Thom replied. 'To which I am radically prone. You have me very curious, Sir Alexander. And the more questions I have, the fewer of them you answer.'

'I didn't ask you to take an interest,' Alex said gruffly.

'No, you didn't. And that's the most interesting thing about you.' Thom faced him, arms crossed over his chest. 'Are you still pretending not to know why Roger chose you as his squire?'

'Why he--' They were standing mere inches from the dead on all sides. The thin air left a coat of dank on his tongue with every inhale, slicking his insides with mould and rot. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to get drunk again. He wanted to be far, far away. 'He chose me because I was the best swordsman. He told me he admired my skill.'

'You were better than him?'

'I was better. Better than anyone at Court.'

'The best un-Gifted squire.'

'Yes, damn it.'

'If it frustrates you all you need to do is stop pretending and tell me the truth.'

'I have!'

Thom casually seated himself on the edge of the tomb, raising a small puff of dust. In his thin nightshirt he looked like a ghost, perched there, aflame only in his copper hair. 'Imagine he had chosen a Gifted student. The best of the Gifted. Perhaps even someone whose talent could surpass his, as your swordsmanship did.'

'So?'

Thom sighed sharply. 'Don't be deliberately tiresome. I'll leave you down here.'

Alex stared into the dark, wishing it could swallow him. 'All right. All right. A Gifted student.'

'What would he have done with such a student? A student who might one day be stronger. A student who might be strong enough to turn on him. Destroy him. An Alanna. A Jonathon. A me.'

He breathed, all he was capable of. 'A you.'

'He would have suspected me. He would have mistrusted me. And when his paranoia reached the right pitch, I would have had an innocent little accident. A Gifted student would have been a very dead student. Wouldn't he have.'

'If you say so.'

'I do, Sir Alexander. If nothing else, I'm rarely wrong, but I think we can acknowledge, between us, that there's significant evidence I'm right.' Thom brushed his hands of dust, and wrapped his long fingers over his knees. 'And yet, here I am. Stronger than him. Better than him. Targeted for eight long years by him. And yet, here I am, poised to do him the greatest favour one man can even conceive of doing for another. And I'm still forced to wonder exactly why you haven't asked me to do it.'

'Why.'

'He left Delia, with all her many charms-- for those who want them. And he left you, with yours.' Thom's eyes were hooded, dark, gleaming only when the lamp Alex held caught them in the light. 'But I think he at least expected you to ask, Alex.'

'You-- said you-- Saw. You Saw yourself do it.'

'It can be done. I can do it.'

'Raise him.'

'He's not really dead,' Thom explained, patient now, quiet. 'No-one can raise the dead. It's an Immutable. Not even the Gods can alter the Immutables. But he's not really dead.'

'Not—' Too much to take in. Alex struggled with it, blind, numb. 'Not really dead? A spell?'

'It really was brilliant. I'll give him that much. It's called Sorcerer's Sleep. Only even attempted a half dozen times in all of history. And never successful. It's not enough to be powerful in your own right. You need an equal. You need another. Someone just as strong-- or stronger-- who happens to want to bring you back. I appreciate the irony. He's been jealous of me all these years, wanted me dead all this time, but I may be the sole living mage able and willing to do it. Do you think he knew it would be me?'

'What do you want from me?'

'All I've asked for is the truth.'

This isn't the end, Roger had told him. And I will need you now more than ever. Serve me this one last time.

Alex swallowed with difficulty. 'Why would you do it.'

'I didn't say I would.'

'Why toy with me!' he demanded violently. He flung the lamp away from him furiously; it dashed on the stone walls with a tinny clatter, and where it fell it went out. They were plunged into darkness; Alex crouched, wiping the chilly sweat from his temples. He closed his eyes into his palm.

A tiny spark became a faintly lavender glow. From the centre of it, Thom said, 'Do you believe in destiny?'

'No,' Alex whispered soundlessly.

Thom curled a fist over his light, and then it was gone. 'I did warn you about the lying.'

The footsteps echoed for a long time, even after Thom was too far gone to be heard. Alex pressed his hands over his ears. Eventually, alone and sightless, he crept along the uneven ground to the wall. He pressed his cheek to the cold, to cool the fever in his head. But the stone beneath his skin was smooth.

He slept propped up by Roger's tomb, and his dreams were wild and angry, and when he woke, nothing was any different. Nothing at all.

 

**

 

'Jon?' Alex said.

The Prince started from his dreamy quiet. His stallion, Darkness, nudged him aside, reaching eagerly for the apple Alex extended for it. Jon slowly resumed his long, gentle strokes with the wire brush that smoothed the horse's coat to an ebony gleam. They were well matched, horse and rider, youthful, powerful, darkly radiant. Jon's eyes were like sapphire, hard chips in a cautiously still face.

'I wanted to say,' Alex began, before his throat closed. Darkness lipped his empty palm, searching for more treats. Alex patted his nose.

'Gary said you weren't feeling well,' Jon said.

'He said I was turning into a drunk. He's been vocal on that point.'

Jon nodded once. 'He's worried. We all are.'

'I'm-- done with it.' Alone in the stables, it was easier to say. Even to manage something like a smile, a hunched shoulder. 'I... just... needed time, I think.'

'It was hard for us all.'

'I admired him.' Darkness ignored him now. Alex played his silky mane between two fingers. 'And I was flattered by his-- attention. That he would choose me. I didn't have the Gift, I wasn't the noblest. He could have had you, or Gary. Raoul. My family's only barely in the Book of Gold. He was the Duke. I was... proud. To be chosen. And proud that he confided in me, trusted me. Wanted me.'

Some of the tense set of Jonathon's shoulders began to ease. 'I can understand that.'

'He... and I were...' But that, it seemed, he couldn't say. It wouldn't pass his frozen lips. His hand shook on Darkness' broad neck. 'I didn't-- know why. Not at first. I swear that.'

Jonathon sighed. He covered Alex's hand. 'I understand,' he repeated. 'Why you were afraid to come to me or my father. I can't say we would have believed you. I didn't believe Alan, either.'

'Alanna.'

'Alanna,' Jonathon corrected, and grinned suddenly. 'I suppose I have to get used to the truth being out.'

'The truth,' Alex said. 'Yes. The truth.'

'You still have my friendship,' Jonathon said firmly. He clasped Alex's shoulder firmly. 'And I'm glad you came to me now. I hope it eases you to have this in the open. If nothing else, the Court was in danger of running out of wine.' His smile lit his eyes, warming them at last. 'It's over, Alex.'

Alex felt a sinking in his stomach that had nothing to do with relief.

He didn't believe Jon.


End file.
